At work, that is...then maybe I'd have time to do all I'd like to do. I've never wanted to not work at all, for I crave structure and deadlines and business. Admittedly this urge runs stronger in me mostly for the things I WANT to do, like writing or music. But I've never wanted to work non-stop on ONLY the things I want to do. With my procrastinatory nature, that approach could run my life down to virtually nothing (and in fact, has).
So, here I am with lots to love and less time to love it.
I've been out and about the past couple of days-- Beerland last night for The Ettes and various and sundry other bands, and then I also just saw the Two Timin' Three at Hole in the Wall. I was inspired--ideas ran rampant in my brain as I soaked in their sheer talent and proefessionalism and love of what they do. They asked me to sing and so I sat in...the band started playing, and like a ride on a beloved and familiar steed, I ambled right back on to the singing track.
I love it all over again.
How come I forget how much I love to sing until I sing? I suppose it must be because I also forget how much I love to write until I write, or how much I love to exercise until I've had a good workout, or dance until I've had a night of dancing, or how much I love sex until I have it it again.
Why is my physiological memory so short? Why can't it remember the things it loves to do, and galvanize my mind into doing them? Is it only a matter of habit, or does it run deeper, into less easily controlled areas of self-esteem and compulsiveness? I'd love to get to the root of this. Perhaps I shall do a month-long experiment and keep track of my well-being.
Anyway--I'm going now because it's time for a snack, a little bit of mindless relaxtion (read: Ugly Betty), a hot bath, and then blessed sleep. Ahhhh....sleep.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment